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“How so?” Isaac frowned. He really did like the way her mind worked.
“Because if the spirits were getting messages, they would surely have been aware that Minerva was going to die?” Beatrice stated plainly. “After all, if the great beyond is what the good Lord says it is, then they know when to expect the newly departed. They wouldn’t predict someone would have a cat if they were waiting for her to join them.”
“Good point,” Isaac coughed and caught Constance eyeing his still untouched cake with a frown. Duly warned, he shot Mark a look and took a bite of his cake. The buttery moistness positively exploded in his mouth. The taste of the rich sponge was quickly followed by what tasted like strawberry jam and rich, frothy cream. Despite his full stomach, he sighed with pleasure. “Did you make this?” He asked Beatrice and gave her a look of approval when she nodded. “It’s good.”
He made a few notes in his little black book while Mark sampled his own piece of cake, and was surprised by the almost companionable silence that settled over them for several minutes. He had spent many years working with Mark, and was more than comfortable with engaging in an interview rather than merely making notes. While Mark finished his cake, Isaac leaned forward in his seat.
“What made you want to go to the séance? You both seem level headed and practical women. Why would you want to waste an evening on such a questionable activity? Have you read the papers about the fraudulent psychics?”
“Yes, we have, and to be honest with you, I was driven by curiosity more than anything else. We didn’t want to go to Great Tipton to see a demonstration. Tuppence went once and said that it was stuff and nonsense. She could see nothing more than strange lighting and muslin. However, we were curious as to how Madame Humphries could manage to con people with false information given that she doesn’t live in the village and wouldn’t know much of the gossip, so we decided to invite her to a séance to give us a clairvoyant demonstration. She wasn’t very expensive and with so many people attending, it was a small price to pay for an evening’s entert
ainment. Harriett and Tuppence had a conversation with Mr Montague, who suggested that we set up a psychic circle and, well, word went round really. Various people asked if they could join. Eventually there were twelve of us, notwithstanding Miss Hepplethwaite and Madame Humphries. To make it appear that we were genuine believers, not curious villagers, we decided to call ourselves a Psychic Circle.”
“Did you pay her?”
“Yes. A small donation plus travelling expenses Madame Humphries called it,” Constance sighed.
“What about the lights that were surrounding Madame Humphries during the demonstration? What do you think they were?”
Beatrice shrugged. “I have no idea, but they didn’t smell. Tuppence said that she had seen strange lights at the demonstration, so I am sure it is some sort of trick. They had that carpet bag on the floor beside Madame’s chair. Anything could have been in that.”
“Did you see either of them go in it for anything?”
“No, sorry, but as I say, it was rather dark because Madame insisted that the room have only minimal light,” Constance sighed and shook her head. “If Miss Hepplethwaite went upstairs and helped herself to anything, and I am not for one moment suggesting that she did, then it could have been placed into the carpet bag at any point throughout the evening.”
Mark nodded. He had to agree with her logic. Madame Humphries could use mediumship as a diversion to keep everyone’s attention away from Miss Hepplethwaite, while she hid her stolen items in the carpet bag.
Were they thieves though?
A small part of him grew acutely angry at the thought of anyone being so brazen as to burgle Harriett’s house at all, let alone while she was in residence.
“Does Harriett know it was murder?”
“Yes, she does. For the purpose of the investigation, we don’t want this gossiped about and it will be impossible to keep quiet if people get wind of Minerva’s death as being anything less than natural,” Isaac reported. “However, because you may be called in for further questioning and, as witnesses may be required to attend court, we have no choice but to tell those who were present last night the truth about Minerva’s death. We would, however, ask that you don’t discuss what happened with anyone else.”
“Can we discuss it with Harriett? I mean, it was her house,” Constance reasoned.
“I don’t see why not as long as you don’t discuss it in her tea shop, or anywhere else where you may be overheard.”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” Constance replied and looked at Beatrice, who nodded her approval.
Mark knew that the ladies would undoubtedly want to discuss last night with Harriett. They were close friends, and Minerva’s death had been in Harriett’s house. On a personal note, he didn’t want Harriett feeling alone and isolated. She had to cope with the ramifications of having a murder take place in her house. On a more professional level, he felt fairly certain that the ladies before him could be trusted to be circumspect with their deliberations and, between them, were more likely to come up with a more feasible explanation for some of the events of last night.
Feeling slightly sick from too much food, Mark moved toward the door. “I think that is about all for now. If there is anything else, then don’t hesitate to contact either myself or Isaac, here. For now, this is a criminal investigation, so please be careful.”
“Wait!”
Mark froze with his hand on the door knob, and turned to glance enquiringly Beatrice. His stomach dropped as he caught sight of Constance in the kitchen, and knew what was coming.
“Here, take some of this with you. There is far too much here for just us two, and you seemed to enjoy it so much,” Beatrice grinned and handed them both a piece of tightly wrapped sponge cake.
Isaac accepted his with a smile of thanks. The rather impish grin Beatrice had on her face warned him that the residents of the seemingly sleepy Tipton Hollow were up to something, only for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what. Unless they were all involved in the murder of Minerva Bobbington, and were trying to silence the questions through killing the investigating detectives with cake, he had no idea where to start looking for suspects.
Mark stared down at the lump of cake in his hand and swallowed. “Thank you, that is most kind of you,” he offered with a weak smile.
Weighed down with more cake, the men quickly left.
“Good Lord, what it is about this village and cake?” Mark muttered as he walked toward Hilltop Farm. It was half a mile out of the village but, right now, Mark needed fresh air and some exercise if only to walk off the heavy weight in his stomach.
